


013 - Fluffy Dad Van Fic

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Dad Van, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 13:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “can you do husband/father van 😘”





	013 - Fluffy Dad Van Fic

When you were in high school you spent a lot of time thinking about what your twenties would be like. In all the of hours spent daydreaming though, you never once came across a vision of the future that even vaguely resembled what it would really eventuate as. Even your most wild wishes didn't compare to how lucky you ended up.

…

It was Sunday morning and the warm air was floating in through the open bedroom window. You watched the little specks of dust float aimless around. It was quiet and that would usually be a worrying thing, but because Van was not in bed with you it was alright. Wherever your babies were, he was with them. You rejoiced in being alone for only a moment before feeling left out and lonely. You got out of bed and pulled on pyjama pants and a tshirt.

You couldn't find anybody in the kitchen, but there was a lot of evidence of a messy pancake breakfast. You were surprised you’d slept through that. There was nobody in front of the television watching cartoons, and nobody in the makeshift studio loudly making sound with anything and everything. You could hear laughter coming from somewhere though, and you followed it out to the back door. It was swinging open, and Mary was lying on the step. You bent down to pat her. She sat up and barked once. The laughter stopped, and from inside the cubby house popped two little heads.

"Mum!" they squeaked in unison. You picked Mary up and walked to the tiny wooden house. Inside you could see Van sitting on the floor. He was being covered in sand from the cubby house's sandpit garden. He gave you a look that said 'yeah, I know we agreed to not let them put the sand inside, but look at how happy they are, forgive me.' You shook your head at him with a smirk.

You handed Mary to Bea. He plonked himself down and started to carefully flatten Mary's fur with pats. Bea, short for Bernard, was the quieter of the twins. All of his noise came out on the drums, an instrument he was crazy good at, even as a toddler. He also showed an aptitude for understanding emotion. If you were sad, he'd come and put his head on your shoulder, and if you were happy, he was happy too. These two traits meant he got along best with Bob. Bea would follow Bob around until he agreed to show him something on the drums. They'd talk in hushed voices and watch the world go by. It was a cute friendship.

Continuing on her mission of shovelling sand onto her father was Nia. She was like Van in that she listened carefully to what you would say, but go ahead and do what she wanted anyway. She hardly ever slowed down, unless it was to look after Bea in some way. She was five minutes older than him and would probably use that against him for the rest of their lives. She also could not back down from a dare. She didn't fully understand the concept of them, but whenever Bondy said, 'hey Nia, go tell your Dad that he sucks at guitar - I dare you,' or 'hey Nia, eat three of these cookies - I dare you,' she would say 'I can too!' and go and tell Van that he sucked at guitar and eat four cookies for dramatic effect.

"Mum we made pancakes," Nia said, continuing the burying.

"We put you some in the fridge," Bea informed you without looking up from Mary. 

"Put you some in the fridge," Van repeated, amused at the jumbled words. As soon as the twins started to speak, his own messy English suddenly sounded regal and he loved it.

"That was good of you guys to do that. I'll eat them after. Did we still want to go for a picnic today?" you asked. Bea nodded, and Nia let out a weird cry that was probably the word 'yes.' Van smiled wide. "You're gonna have to let Daddy up then, Nia. He has to fix that bookshelf before we go," you told her. She stopped and looked at Van. She looked down at the spade in her hand. She nodded, dropped the spade and walked off down the path. Bea got up and followed her, Mary following him. They disappeared into the house. You stood to track them when Van cleared his throat dramatically.

"What?" you asked.

"Are you gonna' help me?"

"Mmmmm… not my job?" you questioned back.

"Wives help husbands. That's what marriage is, Y/N, helping." So dramatic. It was easy to see where Nia got it. You put your hands on your hips and shrugged. Then, in one quick motion he stood, ducked out of the cubby, and grabbed you; not stopping to shake the sand off. You could feel it fall into your shirt and stick to your skin.

"Van!" you squealed and pushed him away. "That's it! You're not invited to the picnic," and you walked quickly down the path back to the house. You could hear him chuckle and follow you.

"It's a family picnic. You can’t have a family picnic without the dad," he said.

"Well you can, but I guess you just can’t have our family picnic without the dad." You looked back over your shoulder and he was smiling at you and happiness was emanating from him.

Inside, as Van realigned the bookshelf and Nia helped with the dishes and Bea looked for Mary's lead, you were hit with the profound sense of peace. You paused for a moment to let it wash over you. Bea brought the lead to Van, who picked him up and walked to you. You booped both of the boys on the nose, and both made horribly cute giggling sounds. Nia yelled "finished!" as she put the last cup away, then "picnic!" as she walked out of the room.

"You put their shoes on, I'll pack the basket?" you offered. Van nodded and leant in. You kissed and the butterflies that first came alive in your tummy when you met him at some seedy bar when you were only fourteen danced their favourite dance.

Life couldn't get any fucking better if it tried.


End file.
